Mrs Patmore Has A Minute, Mr Carson Has a Fit
by lemacd
Summary: It wasn't that Mrs. Hughes lacked knowledge, her mother did teach her the basics after all. But she lacked the experience to make her very good at it. And if she were honest, she didn't really enjoy it all that much.


_**disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey, these adorable characters or well... really much of anything.**_

The wedding was still a month away, but it was barreling toward her like a runaway freight train For the most part, things were all set to go. The church was reserved and a location for the celebration finally decided. She had a dress and Charles assured her that he had taken care of the ring. There was only one thing left on her mental list of things that needed to be addressed before any kind of marriage was to happen.

Mrs. Hughes closed her eyes and swallowed hard. As much as she wanted to, ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away.

E&C&E&C&E&C

"Mrs. Patmore, do you have a moment?" Mrs. Hughes had crept quietly into the kitchen. The afternoon lull was probably the best time to get this over with.

"Only just," was the reply. The cook stood quickly after checking the oven, her face flushed from her work. "Something I can do for you, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Well, I was wondering if you could take a break and come to my room. I-I'd like to talk to you about something." Mrs. Hughes darted her eyes at Daisy who stood with a curious look on her face. "It's rather... private." The cook bit back a sharp remark when she saw the housekeeper nervously wringing her hands and chewing her bottom lip.

"Well, that sounds pretty serious," she observed, adding as she turned toward the stove and grabbed the kettle. "Very well, I'll bring the tea."

E&C&E&C&E&C

Charles Carson reached the bottom of the stairs and sensed it immediately. The quiet was too quiet. The usual players were nowhere to be seen. He poked his head into the kitchen.

"Daisy? Has Mrs. Patmore gone out?"

"No, Mr. Carson," she answered dutifully. "She's in with Mrs. Hughes." She looked up from her task quickly, a stricken look on her face. The butler noticed immediately.

"Oh? And is there a problem I should know about?"

"I don't know anything, Mr. Carson, honest," the assistant cook sputtered nervously. "Only I'm sure Mrs. Hughes wouldn't be happy that I've told as much as I have." There was a beat of awkward silence before he stepped closer into the kitchen and gathered his patience.

"Now, Daisy," he answered in a softer, more paternal tone knowing it was the best way to calm the poor girl down. "You aren't in trouble, I only wish to know if there is something important I should know about."

"I don't know how important it is," Daisy answered, realizing she put herself in a fix. She couldn't very well lie to Mr. Carson, but betraying Mrs. Hughes was surely a death wish mistake. "She just wanted to talk to Mrs. Patmore about something private." She quickly added, "I'm sure it's nothing, Mr. Carson."

But he barely heard her over the feeling of dread pounding in his head. Charles turned his head toward her sitting room. Was it her health again? He noticed that she had become a bit distracted in the last day or so. It was clear that something was on her mind but she brushed off all inquiries with a half-smile and dismissive 'never you mind'. He figured it was the wedding. Not once did he think it could be about... _that_.

Ever since he proposed, they'd been more open with each other. She willingly told him about her upbringing and her family, especially about Becky. He didn't resent that she had kept the secret about her sister. She was simply being protective, and he admired her all the more for it.

And yet, despite this new openness between them, they never once talked about that horrible time when she found that lump. She had no idea how frightened he had been, how desperately he had wanted to be the one to support her in such a crisis. She didn't know how it hurt him to be pushed to the outside and left powerless to do anything. Well...

 _She would know now!_

He marched straight to the door of her sitting room and raised his hand to knock when a new thought stopped him cold. What if he was wrong and it had nothing to do with her health? She wouldn't thank him for barging in like some kind of ogre and demanding answers. No, that wouldn't go over well at all.

He dropped his hand to his side and slouched in resignation. He'd have to wait and hope she'd confide, whatever it was. He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit.

Then an idea struck him out of nowhere. The grate! The grate outside her room was practically staring at him. He could just move a few things, stand on his toes and lean forward. He could!

He removed a small box from it's place on the shelf as quietly as he could. He told himself he would only listen until he heard his suspicions confirmed one way or the other. After that, well, whatever happened after that would depend. If she was sick, they would deal with it together. He stretched and pushed his ear toward the grate as best he could.

E&C&E&C&E&C

" _I don't see what the big deal is," the cook said. "The man loves you, anyone with eyes can see it. I'm sure you'll be fine."_

" _It's humiliating!" Mrs. Hughes scoffed, her voice rising in agitation. "A woman my age... he deserves better than 'fine'. I don't want him to be disappointed in me."_

" _But you've got to know something, didn't your mother ever teach you?"_

" _She taught me the basics, yes, but it isn't that I lack knowledge really,"Mrs. Hughes' voice fell and there was a long pause. "It's that I don't have the experience to be any good at it."_

" _You don't think he knows this?" Mrs. Patmore was sounding still unconvinced that there was a problem to be solved._

" _Yes, I suppose, but it's more than that. I never enjoyed it, all that sweat and effort and then a big mess to clean up after. Part of the appeal of entering service was that I could avoid it. Well, I can't very well avoid it after we marry! Isn't it a duty every wife is expected to perform?"_

" _Every day," Mrs. Patmore added sympathetically._

" _Oh my god!"_

Charles fell back onto his heels. It certainly didn't sound like they were discussing cancer. The relief he felt at that mixed with the horror of what he suspected they were talking about. All of his intention to walk away once he knew she was going to be all right was gone. He climbed up one of the steps near the grate and leaned his ear even closer.

" _... or you could get a book, you know."_

" _I thought of that, but he could find it," Mrs. Hughes explained pitifully. "Please, Mrs. Patmore. It's embarrassing enough that I'm telling you but I'm desperate for help."_

 _The cook sighed. "Frankly I think you're worried over nothing, Men aren't that fussy, really, as long as there's plenty of it."_

" _It's no use," Mrs. Hughes cried. "I can't bear to disappoint him, Mrs. Patmore, and he is going to be."_

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He always suspected that women would discuss certain things with each other when they were alone. He was, however, rather appalled that the cook held the male species in such low regard when it came to the physical expectations in a marriage. But that Elsie would think it of him was truly unbearable. Disappointed in her? Why on earth would she ever think she could...

That blasted memorial site. He was so sure she would agree with this idea for a memorial garden that when she took Lord Grantham's side he told her he was disappointed in her. Granted, he came around eventually and they were once again on the same side. But not before he watched her turn away from him completely crushed by his insensitive words. It made him sick to think that his carelessness put doubt in her mind about her ability to please him.

But why couldn't she just tell him about her worries? They were about to start a new life together, a life he assumed would be built on trust and understanding. What did it say about their prospects if the woman he loved couldn't come to him with such an important matter? What did it say about the love she professed to have for him? He listened once again.

" _... make a list, what you think he likes and stick to those. And make it a short list," Mrs. Patmore stated evenly. "No point in hurting yourself."_

" _I suppose."_

" _Look, it won't be that bad. Just pour enough of his precious wine into him and he won't notice what's going on," Mrs. Patmore joked, hoping to bring a little levity to the situation, but stopped when her friend began to cry in earnest. "Hey, come on now. We'll get you sorted and it'll be fine. You'll see."_

" _I don't see how."_

" _Look, I'll teach you a few things and if that isn't good enough for Mr. Carson, well... perhaps once I retire I can come round and do it for you once or twice a week. That way I get to see more of you both."_

With that Charles Carson had heard enough. Pushing the box back in front of the grate and stumbling down off the step in a state of extreme agitation, he threw open the door and stepped inside, shoving the door closed behind him. He turned toward the two women who were trying hard to recover from the sudden fright.

"What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed.

"Mr. Carson! We were just-"

"I heard everything, Mrs. Patmore, and I'm very much aware what you were _'just'_ , not to mention shocked and appalled!" Charles could feel the collar of his shirt start to tighten as his jaw clenched with indignation.

"Mr. Carson, please calm down," Elsie begged quietly, casting her eyes around the floor once she saw the look of rage in his eyes. "Obviously you're upset, but I hardly think it is worth shouting the whole house down on our heads."

"Really! I'd think you'd be touched," the cook snapped at him. "She's only thinking about your bloody happiness."

"I heard what it was about! But did it not occur to either of you that my so-called happiness is personal and private and least of all subject for your ridicule?" At that, Mrs. Patmore took umbrage and jumped to her feet. She braced her hands on each hip and turned toward the butler.

"Look here, there's no need to to get yourself all up in a twist, Mr. Carson, I was just trying to help-"

"Help! You?!"

"Well, who else?! I've been doing it my whole life, naturally she wants my help," Mrs. Patmore shot back, her voice becoming more shrill with each word. Elsie was sure there was a nice congregation of servants right outside the door by now. It was clearly not a thought neither the butler nor the cook seemed to be having at that moment.

"I-I-I'm speechless... why?"

"Why?! Maybe she doesn't want to kill you the first week into your marriage..."

"Kill me?!"

"... and man can't live on bread alone, Mr. Carson, so they say."

"I could," Charles declared, incensed. But just as quickly, he turned to Elsie and woefully added, "I would. I don't want you to be worried, Elsie. I don't need... _that_... to be happy. Just you." With that he brought both of her hands to his lips and placed gentle kisses on the back of her wrists. He looked up at Elsie, defeated and distressed.

Elsie stared dumbfounded. While she might allow he had a right to be upset that she was keeping something from him, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was not right. Her mouth opened as the answer started to come to her, but she looked away, thinking on it a bit more before speaking.

"Charles?" she said taking a deep breath as she waited for him to look at her. "Mrs. Patmore is going to teach me how to cook." The silence that followed that statement seemed to go on forever.

"Did you say, 'cook'?" Charles groped for the nearest chair and fell into it.

"That's right. _Cook_." Elsie added emphasis to the last word, letting him know she knew what he thought they were talking about.

"Oh my god..." he said. For a minute, silence filled the room.

"Oh my god!" They both turned to see a red-faced Mrs. Patmore finally figure it out.

"Mrs. Patmore, I think I owe you-" Charles started to apologize but stopped when both women dissolved into laughter. "Ok, I see. Go on, then. Laugh. Laugh at the old booby."

"Oh, Charles," Elsie managed to squeak out between giggle fits. "We're sorry. It's just that... surely you can see how funny this is."

Charles dropped his head in his hands. Decades of running a tight ship, of hard earned respect from his colleagues, of finally working up the courage to win the lovely hand of the woman he loved... completely decimated in one single day. He was sure no man had made a bigger fool of himself.

But he had to admit they were right. It was funny.

"Mrs. Patmore, once again I apologize for my words," he said sincerely, barely able to look his friend in the face. "I didn't think and misjudged your good intentions. You're a dear friend to us both."

"I'd be a dearer friend if I kept this to myself," Mrs. Patmore huffed quite pointedly. "That's what you're really saying, isn't it. Well, that'll be my wedding present. Though I should be thanking you, I haven't laughed like that in a dog's age!" She slowly stood up and made her way to the door. "Dinner will be ready soon," she deadpanned and then winked at him. They could still hear her howling long after the door closed.

"You must think I'm a fool," Charles sighed, taking Elsie's hand once again. "I need to apologize to you, as well. It was just so disheartening to hear that you might have such a low opinion of me, to think that is all I would care about in our marriage. I want you, Elsie. I'll not lie. But I would rather starve than let you think-" He stopped when Elsie started to snicker. "Er, poor choice of words. I just don't want you to think anything you do or don't do would make me love you less."

"That's very sweet, Charles," Elsie answered softly, giving the hand that held hers a gentle squeeze. "It was just a misunderstanding. I should have just let you know... I hate to cook. I'm not very good at it and I'll probably bore you to death with the few edible meals I can pull off."

"I'm not terribly worried about it," Charles assured her. Then his brow furrowed and his mouth became a frown. "You aren't, uh... worried about the other thing, are you? Because the same goes for that! I would never expect-"

"I'm not worried, my darling," Elsie smiled, caressing the lines out of his worried face. "The truth is, I'm rather hoping that my expertise in the bedroom will more than make up for my dreadful kitchen skills. Eventually, anyway."

"Oh, my dearest," Charles moaned. "When you say things like that, you could feed me sawdust and I'd be the happiest man on earth."

They held hands in the pleasant silence for a few minutes before Elsie finally spoke.

"You did come in here ready to kill poor Mrs. Patmore," she observed. "What did she say that put you over the edge like that?" Charles rubbed his hand over his face and looked at her wearily.

"She offered to come over once a week so she could see more of me."

Elsie clapped her hands over her mouth but it was too late. "Oh my god!"

 **OK, so this happened. I wrote it because Edward Carson suggested I do it and quite frankly, I was incredibly flattered. But with all the spoilers and all the anticipation for the new series, I thought I'd better hurry and post it before Sunday. Of course, I realized it would probably be funnier if Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore _were_ talking about sex and Mr. Carson thought they were talking about cooking but this was already written and so screw it. It's done. Enjoy series six. xo**


End file.
